"Bob is real. He's been having me since I was 12... he says he wants to be in me or he'll kill me."

The piercing screams of Laura Palmer reverberate through Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me, David Lynch's brutal 1992 movie prequel that followed the sadly short-lived television series. Slaughtered by critics, shunned by audiences and scrutinised by fans, it was effectively wrapped in plastic and left to drift away like Laura's corpse... until now.

The announcement that 90 minutes of previously unseen footage will soon be released, featuring many regular characters absent from the theatrical cut, has revived interest in this widely perceived artistic misfire from Lynch. Two decades on and free from the burden of expectation, it deserves to be viewed as the director's damn fine misunderstood masterpiece.

The movie prequel takes us back a year before the series, to the murder of Teresa Banks by 'Killer Bob'. Our comfort blanket Dale Cooper isn't present for much of the movie, as new characters Agent Chester Desmond (Chris Issac) and partner Sam Stanley (Kiefer Sutherland) investigate with help from the hilarious Gordon Cole (David Lynch) and his cryptic visual clues.

Despite initial alienation stemming from our cravings for Dale, the duo form an engaging dynamic â€“ the diner-based moment when Chester tricks Sam into spilling coffee on himself is sublime. The methods of Chester when confronted with local law enforcement also form a striking contrast with those of his successor. Where Dale Cooper would use a smile and a thumbs-up to disarm local law enforcement, Chester prefers a swift hand to the nose.

Once we've grown accustomed to this new pairing and their peculiar ways, they disappear amidst a mystery involving a ring followed by a jarring temporal shift to the next year and the last days of Laura Palmer. It's that classic Lynch tactic of pulling the rug from beneath our feet. Yet the riches that follow are worth any frustrations.

At the movie's smouldering core lies a complex and compelling performance from Sheryl Lee as the horrifically abused teenager on a tragic path to self-destruction and ultimately given salvation through an angelic epiphany. She's a girl torn between sweet and sour, embroiled in drugs and prostitution while exhibiting acts of love and kindness to others. This duality (a common theme in Lynch's work) is epitomised by her efforts to save Donna (Moira Kelly) from a similar fate during a memorable nightclub sequence that unfolds at its own pace to reinforce the awkwardness of the scenario.

Sheryl Lee gives us a great sense of the emotional brutality experienced by the character, who was already dead by the time Agent Dale Cooper rolled into Twin Peaks to sample the fir trees and cremated bacon on offer. In one standout scene, Lynch expertly orchestrates Laura's shocking discovery about the identity of her abuser so that it creates a shuddering, heart-pounding impact on us â€“ even though we've known who did it since midway through the second series.

It involves a highway-based showdown with The One Armed Man as he roars his warning to Laura, creating a monstrous cacophony with her screams and the engine being revved up by the car's driver (whose identity we won't reveal in case you haven't seen the series). The shock and revulsion that consume Laura's face at this moment also consume ours. It's deeply disturbing but ferocious filmmaking. The eventual murder of Laura in the abandoned train carriage repeats this feat.

The domestic scenes in the Palmer household should remain etched in the memory of many viewers. Ray Wise, a remarkably underrated actor, is brilliant as the patriarch Leland. Armed with an air of unpredictability, his face can suddenly switch between menace and pathos â€“ echoing his own internal battle. Leland's berating of Laura for not washing her hands properly before sitting down at the dinner table makes the family dinner traumas of American Beauty feel only slightly awkward in comparison.

In a stroke of genius, this prequel also functions as a sequel thanks to the inclusion of Heather Graham's bloodied Annie making a sudden visitation to Laura. She was last seen in the devastating series finale, trapped in the Black Lodge, from which her beau Dale Cooper emerged in a possessed state. "How's Annie?" he maniacally chirped, not unlike the ill-fated bird Waldo who pecked away at Laura. Well, Annie isn't okay judging by what we witness. Will the deleted scenes tell us more?

While there were flashes of humour in Fire Walk With Me, there were no 'easy win' retreads like Dale Cooper solving mysteries by throwing rocks, Dr Jacobi being eccentric, Pete finding his percolator invaded by fish or Nadine turning hysterical because her drapes make too much noise â€“ those wonders already exist. We've seen them. We've loved them. Of course it's natural to want more of the same, but would we still be talking about the movie 20 years later if it wasn't a movie that transcended initial disappointments based on expectation, only to emerge as a triumph based on what it actually was?

Lynch removed much of what was familiar and comforting and homed in on the darker elements of the story in a way that the television medium wouldn't allow. The graphic scenes of violence and nudity, so important to the film's effectiveness, would never be allowed on American network television at the time. Nor would lines like "So, you want to f**k the homecoming Queen?"

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This created a fascinating dissonance between the Twin Peaks we'd grown accustomed to and the unflinchingly confrontational nature of the movie. It's classic Lynch. Ever since the jarring sounds and static blasts of his debut movie Eraserhead, Lynch has revelled in subjecting viewers to both discomfort and epiphanies. Each experience heightens the other. No wonder he sells (fish-free) coffee these days â€“ he wants people to feel wired.

To ramp up the unease for Fire Walk With Me, a request from Lynch was attached to film prints in the form of a memo from New Line Distribution to projectionists. He really wanted those screams to pierce through the hearts of cinemagoers. Increased sound also came in handy for hearing the word 'Judy' uttered by the creepy simian entity at the end of the movie, binding it to the manic monologue from David Bowie's Agent Philip Jeffries earlier in the movie. Here's the memo:

To: Theatre Projectionists
Re: Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me

David Lynch, the director of Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me has asked me to contact you regarding the sound level of his motion picture. Mr. Lynch has put a lot of effort into the soundtrack of Twin Peaks, and feels that the best reproduction of sound will be achieved by increasing the volume 2 decibels above normal. Your efforts to accommodate Mr. Lynch will surely result in greater audience enjoyment of the film and, therefore, greater box office sales.

Lynch laps up challenging material like the evil inhabitants of the mysterious Black Lodge devour their garmonbozia (creamed corn infused with pain and sorrow â€“ reminiscent of standard school dinners). When he made a film with a linear, simple narrative, it was such a novelty that it was titled The Straight Story. Lynch was never going to delve back into the world of Twin Peaks for a simple retread, like a rock group churning out their greatest hits on autopilot for a nostalgia tour.

A frenzied emotional and visceral assault on our senses, Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me deserves reappraisal for what it is as opposed to what it isn't. It's an electric, ethereal, traumatic and transcendent masterpiece that straddles dreams and nightmares while tapping in to the dark psychological impulses within the human soul. That moving final freeze frame â€“ of Laura Palmer crying and laughing as the angel descends â€“ represents not only the wonderful film, but the essence of life itself. Powerful filmmaking indeed.

Now bring on those deleted scenes as we need to see Deputy Andy Brennan's dumbfounded facial expression and hear Lucy's high-pitched squeak again. It's been a damn long wait...